


Stories

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Challenge Response, Character Study, Communication, Community: Reel Torchwood, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto watches Jack dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Screening 5 of the [](http://reel-torchwood.livejournal.com/profile)[**reel_torchwood**](http://reel-torchwood.livejournal.com/) challenge. The prompt for this one was "Master and Commander". For more info on Patrick O'Brian, here's a pretty decent Wiki page to start you off: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_O%27Brian>
> 
> Many thanks to my husband for the beta.

It's half past three in the morning. The sun will rise soon, and Jack will open his eyes with the first hint of light. He always does, now. Ever since his burial, he can't stay asleep when the sun rises. Or maybe it's more that he won't. What's most different, though, is that Jack sleeps nearly every night.

Ianto watches him. Ianto has watched Jack sleep for nearly two weeks. It's not a fetish. It's not even necessarily insecurity, though he'd be lying if he said that factor didn't exist. And perhaps there's more of that than Ianto can admit. In fact, perhaps it's all about insecurity, and the fact that it's been three weeks for him and two thousand years for Jack. Ianto wonders why it is that he now awakens every night about twenty minutes before the blackbird sings, and Jack just sleeps. It used to be that he'd wake up to the alarm at six o'clock and Jack would be long gone.

But just now, in this moment, Ianto isn't anxious about Jack leaving. Something has changed. He can almost time the smile that will play over Jack's face – yes, there it is. And Jack's eyes are moving under their lids as he smiles.

What's he thinking? Is he dreaming about escaping from Earth at long last? Has the Doctor come to beg him to be his companion, again?

It's all Ianto can do not to touch Jack. Right from the first night they met and he could _smell_ him, Ianto hasn't been able to resist touching Jack Harkness. Even then, even in the midst of conning the head of Torchwood Three into access to facilities for Lisa, he couldn't quite maintain the illusion that he was just seducing a mark. Even now, a year and a half after falling madly in love with Jack – literally insanely, because he _knew_ what Jack was, and had never wanted an irresponsible, immortal, pan-sexual, ill-mannered, male, long-term casual-shag partner – Ianto wants nothing more than to insert himself into Jack this instant and lick every inch of skin he can reach whilst fucking the man blind.

His erection aches so much that he grimaces, almost closing eyes that he forces to stay open so he can keep his watch and drink his fill of _Jack_. He can feel himself running his fingers through Jack's hair – thick and so soft after the product is washed out of it and it's dried. His dick jerks at the memory of Jack teasing and then rubbing every inch of him with it.

And then Jack's eyes open, and he's looking at Ianto, and just for a moment, there is a vulnerable question on Jack's smiling face as he searches Ianto's eyes. And then the smile broadens, turns mischievous and affectionate – though Ianto would never say so, even to himself. "Come here."

Ianto hesitates just long enough to keep from coming.

Jack arches up against the sheet, outlining his own rapidly developing hardness. His eyes are soft, inviting, and there's a hint – just the smallest hint – of worry flitting across them. He reaches up towards Ianto's face. "Whatever you want, it's fine."

Ianto blinks.

"More than fine," Jack all but growls in his morning purr, his hand lightly caressing Ianto's cheek. "I'm ready."

Ianto feels a noise rising from his diaphragm and is a bit startled when it shouts from his mouth into Jack's as he kisses him, feels Jack's legs come up around him.

It's almost too easy. After so much time and exploration together, and with such an active sex life, they don't often need lube – Jack's only needed it after the betrayal and the first time after he emerged from the grave – and with Jack's immune system and declared monogamy, they don't need or want condoms. Although Ianto makes a mental note to check on the supply of birth control pills that Jack has to take, despite his claims that the rain in Cardiff carries enough oestrogen to bar him from ever getting pregnant again.

Emphasis on _almost_ too easy. The excitement of feeling Jack clench around him is almost too much for Ianto, who gasps and has to stop and think of Yvonne Hartman in order to maintain his control.

"Ianto!"

Ianto looks into Jack's eyes and knows that Jack knows whose image was in his head.

"Anyone but her!"

That does ease things a bit, because Ianto is never thrilled with Jack's psychic ability. Far beyond anything that was taught at Canary Wharf. "I hate it when you read my mind."

"Sorry. Want to continue?"

"God, yes!" Ianto buries himself to the hilt in Jack, capturing the gasp from Jack's mouth in his own and moaning at the clench from Jack's arse and legs.

It is rushed and heated and languid, by turns – something Ianto would never have imagined and now can't live without. He rips himself from Jack's kiss and slows the pace, tasting every bit of skin he can reach on Jack. He knows that he could mark Jack – that it would fade by the time they had to leave for Torchwood or Gwen arrived – but he can't bear to damage that perfect skin. He caresses its smoothness, lingering over perfect pectoral muscles and taut nipples, relishing the taste of sex sweat, of perfectly clean skin devoid of morgue-ridden stench, of Jack.

"Ianto! Please...."

Ianto looks up at Jack and sees that look of needing a hand on him. That he wants it to be Ianto's, he makes clear by the plea in his eyes.

There are times when they are very verbal during sex – after a phone call with the Prime Minister or a very tense day on the job, Jack will insist on keeping up a running commentary or a string of demands, even though Ianto is nearly always the one in charge. But it is the times like now, in the early quiet of the day, especially here in this flat that Ianto has never got around to selling, and wouldn't, now that Jack practically lives here, that Ianto values most.

The times when they ask and consent and affirm with bodily cues more than words – those times are when Ianto can imagine and let himself believe that this means something to Jack. They are the times when he can thrust that little bit deeper and slower, can kiss a shoulder just a little bit longer, can show Jack – without having to worry about words – how very much he loves him.

All with plausible deniability, of course, because when Jack thrusts up and begs with his eyes like that, when he uses arms and hands to encourage, or to caress and protect a shoulder that still hasn't quite settled after its dislocation, Ianto can simply mention pots and kettles, and tell stories of their mutual colour.

The thought that Jack loves him – might love him – is enough to send Ianto into his orgasm. It always does, which is a tertiary reason why Ianto keeps such thoughts at bay as much as he can. He tells himself again – constantly – that the sheer soppiness of it should make him gag. But it doesn't.

Jack gasps. "Ianto!" he cries, his arms tightening around him. And then he is coming as Ianto thrusts and strokes, coating Ianto's chest and belly in sweat and semen.

Ianto collapses on top of Jack before attempting to move off him and clean up.

But Jack stops him. "Stay," he murmurs. Only it's more of a beg than Ianto's ever heard from him. "Please."

All of the protests of stickiness and coldness and wetness vanish at the sound of Jack's voice. "All right," says Ianto, kissing him softly.

Ianto pulls out as gently as he can, and they shift so that he can use his bedside towel to clean the worst of things off of Jack's chest and his own dick. Much as he'd like to be glued to Jack at times, the reality isn't as pleasant as the fantasy.

There's a troubled expression on Jack's face, and Ianto kisses his cheek, eye, lips.

Jack searches his eyes.

"What?" Ianto asks, at last.

Jack caresses Ianto's cheek, stroking it with his thumb. His eyes are wet, but nothing spills. He shakes his head.

"What were you dreaming about? When you woke up?"

Jack laughs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He kisses Ianto, long and languid, a lovely, standard gambit.

"Yes, I would." Ianto gazes at Jack, half inviting, half commanding.

Jack sighs and shifts, wrapping an arm around Ianto's shoulders and settling back. "I was dreaming of that movie you were watching the other night. You know, that thing about the Captain and the Doctor who went sailing together and played music when they weren't busy trying not to drown their crew?"

" _Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World_. Didn't think you were watching that one."

"I wasn't. But I knew the author."

"You knew Patrick O'Brian."

"Yeah, only he wasn't called that, then. He worked in intelligence during the Second World War. He and I were assigned to root out spies in Europe and Africa. He got to drive the ambulance because they thought I was reckless." Jack grins.

"I didn't know he worked in intelligence." Ianto makes a mental note to learn everything about Patrick O'Brian when they go into work in two hours.

"Yeah, well, he did, we got assigned together, and things got kind of tense pretty fast. He was kind of a recluse and I ... had an attitude problem."

"Ah." Ianto smiles a little.

"So I told him my story."

"What story was that?"

"The one about the Captain, the Doctor and the Daleks on a space station way far in the future."

Ianto can feel his face start to fall. "And he turned it into—"

"A book about a Captain, a Doctor and an arch-enemy on the high seas in the Age of Sail."

"You gave him the material for the Aubrey-Maturin series..."

"Well, I didn't know he was going to do that!"

Ianto turns over. "Goodnight. Clearly, I'm dreaming this and it will go away."

Jack rubs Ianto's arm.

Ianto sighs.

"I didn't have sex with him."

Ianto blinks. "That thought never crossed my mind."

Jack snorts.

"It didn't."

"You sound surprised."

"Probably because I am."

Jack kisses Ianto's shoulder. "Sounds like you finally trust me." His voice is light, teasing.

"I trust you."

"So what's the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Ianto."

Ianto sighs. "Not going to get away from this one, am I?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it." But Jack's hand splayed so wonderfully says 'concern', not 'command'.

Ianto closes his eyes and can't bring himself to swear. "You've known so many people, done so much, heard so much. How many stories are you in, Jack?"

Jack's fingers stiffen ever so slightly on Ianto's shoulder, as if he's quelling a joke. "Do you really want to know?"

Ianto can't help a shiver – or maybe it's a shudder. "I think so."

"Really?"

"Yup." _God, no!_

Jack sighs, making Ianto think that he's going to evade the question. "I don't know." It's quiet. Bleak.

Ianto doesn't turn to face him, but he does relax a little, which puts more of his weight into Jack's hand.

"I've seen newspaper articles, horror stories, gossip columns, even comic books that retell stories I've been involved in. After a hundred years, or so, I stopped reading them."

Ianto does turn, then, fitting himself around and through Jack, stroking his face as the growing light reveals more of it. He could spend a lifetime – maybe even one as unimaginable as Jack's – gazing at that face. "I've never told you this, but ... I love hearing your stories. Even when I don't."

Jack laughs, a bit moistly. "Yeah?"

"You know I do."

Jack kisses Ianto, long and as tenderly as Ianto can remember ever being kissed. "Yeah."

There is a comfortable silence. Ianto begins to fall asleep in the dawning light.

"Did I ever tell you the one about how I trained Neil Armstrong to walk on the moon?"

"Three times."

"Oh."

"You could tell me about Patrick O'Brian. Save me Googling him."

"Deal!" Jack yawns, hugely. "In the morning?"

"Works for me." Ianto closes his eyes and pretends to slip back into sleep.


End file.
